Blood and Water
by DarkFacade-88
Summary: Cervantes de Leon: Pirate, warrior, destroyer. But what led Cervantes down that path. This chronicle of the life of the dread pirate tells the story of a man's descent into darkness.


Disclaimer: I don't own SC2, Cervantes, or much of anything in this story. Namco owns some, Spain owns the rest. Kudos to them!  
  
I have written two fics so far, one a parody and the other more serious, but I intend for this one to be my most complex, a little deeper. It will concentrate primarily on one character, though there will be some cameo appearances later on.  
  
CHAPTER 1 – OF OCEANS BLUE  
  
A gentle spray of rain sprinkled the countless seemingly flawless marble, causing the perfectly whittled material to gleam dully as the thin sheet caressed it. The aura of sun could be seen glowing fervently behind drifting puffs of cloud that arched slowly across the noonday sky. The miniscule droplets only pelted the ground weakly, barely an inconvenience for travelers. They were certainly trying to be a nuisance, but failing miserably and had, so far, only served to depress the day.  
  
Despite the rain, the cobblestone and tiled streets remained brimming with people, as they always were. The dankness brought on by the gloomy day barely effected these folk, except that all their collective demeanors had become weaker. Less incessant chatter could be heard than usual, a fact duly noted by all those who made it their business to know all of the stretching city's local and international gossip. It was always hard to get anything out of a cold, dreary day such as this.  
  
There were only a few horses on the street, since most people found it simpler to walk from place to place. One horse, near the looming entrance to the city, pranced about through the flowing and ebbing crowds with a more regal nature, barely deigning to cast its well-groomed muzzle down on the tattered peasants and flitting cutpurses that roamed illicitly in this area. The upstanding creature pranced about as if it did not have two figures on its back weighing it down.  
  
Cervantes de Leon clutched the now tangled mane of the horse he rode on as his wary eyes scanned the morass of unknown people that was scurrying about around him. He tried not to look agitated, though he was. His eyelids drooped, but he quickly perked up as the noble steed that bore him bounced along the street ceremoniously. He leaned forward in the saddle, feeling the warm but rough hands of his father rest gently on his own.  
  
"Don't fret, son. I know you're tired, but we will both get a chance to rest soon."  
  
"I wasn't fretting, father. I'm just bored, that's all." Replied Cervantes defensively, letting his firm grip on the smooth horsehair of the beast's mane loosen and finally slip. His hands strayed to the horse's haunches and remained there as his father replied.  
  
"Bored, here?" chortled Phillip de Leon, leaning over in the saddle and calmly goading the steed sideways into a broader street, "Cervantes, no one is ever bored in Cordoba. This city is indeed a sight that all Spaniards should see at least once in their lives. There is so much to see, so much to do here."  
  
"Like what?" muttered Cervantes skeptically. He preferred the land reserves in Valencia to this anarchic grouping of people. Even though the awe- inspiring building shot upward into the sky and cast their glories down on the ground, Cervantes was more irritated by the fact that he could not see more than three feet in front of him through the maelstrom of cloth and baggage. The young Spaniard was more suited to open spaces, rather than this muddled chaos.  
  
"The Cathedral, the Alcazar, the Mezquita, the plazas, everything, Cervantes. How could you not find something wonderful in Cordoba. I admit, it is not Madrid, nor even Valencia, but it is quite a sight to behold in any case. You yourself have not seen any of its wonders, so how can you frown upon and dismiss them all with such haste?"  
  
"I...I don't know...I just don't like the crowds."  
  
"I see," remarked Phillip philosophically, scratching his chin pensively before speaking again. "You can get your mind off that by looking above it. All the hustle and bustle is confined to the streets, the heavens will have none of that. Just look up and sea all the wonders that are to be seen. Over there, for example." Phillip de Leon leaned his strong arm on Cervantes' shoulder and directed his index finger at a structure that lined the broad street in the distance, nestled between smaller buildings.  
  
It was, of course, a grand structure in itself. It was great and thick- walled, each piece of perfectly carved stone melded together to form it as it sat in a niche created by groves and gardens decked with luxuries around it. It's gargantuan but precise bulk was accentuated by countless columns of onyx, marble, granite, and jasper that were inlaid into the walls and around the swirling designs on the great door. A roof of smooth cedar wood painted a tranquil cerulean color marked its top and circled around the tower at its center, which jutted up and terminated in a delicate pinnacle.  
  
"That, my boy, is the Capilla Royale," said Phillip with a sort of awed respect in his firm baritone, "It was built as a mosque for the Moslems many years ago, but it was converted to a church not long ago and his majesty, King Charles, had it wholly remodeled as the royal cathedral here. That pinnacle that sits aloft is the Cardinal's Chapel itself, which holds many great religious treasures."  
  
Cervantes took an exasperated breath as he looked at the architectural novelty. Yes, it was grand, but he had seen better. After a trip to Madrid, nothing could stand up against the sheer vastness of the Spanish Empire's capital city. The cathedral might be intriguing to inspect, and might captivate the gaze of so many, but it did not impress Cervantes de Leon.  
  
"That doesn't impress you?" murmured Phillip as if he'd read the boy's very mind, his eyebrow drifting up quizzically as he looked at his weary-looking son, "Well, there is a great deal more I could show you, but I fear it will do no good. It seems, son, that very little can actually penetrate you, so I will not bother. I know that you will like it in Cadiz, and I suppose that is all that really matters."  
  
A gleeful glint hit the young boy's eye as he heard the name. Cadiz was his destination, as was his father's. That was why they were traveling in the first place and that was where Cervantes honestly yearned to go. The open air, the sea breeze of the port city, the impossible to count ranks of ships in the harbor sitting like magnificent eagles perched upon the highest mountains of the waves. He loved ships and always lingered on the beaches around Valencia to watch even the smallest fishing boats pass by on their merry way.  
  
His love of the sea and the vessel borne on it was only indulged by his father. Phillip de Leon was a privateer; a seafarer commissioned by the king himself to lawfully board and confiscate valuables from merchant or passenger vessels of other nations opposed to the recent expansion of the Spanish Empire. That was the reason for this achingly long trip southwest through the innards of Spain. Cervantes was going with his father to Cadiz to see him off on the maiden voyage of his new ship with his commission. Not only was Cervantes eager to see the ships and the sea, but he yearned to see his father's proud vessel, a ship that would almost surely strike fear into the hearts of all Spain's enemies as soon as it's impregnable hull hit the water.  
  
"Yes, I'm sure I'll like it in Cadiz." Said Cervantes at last, breaking his moment of reverie to speak. He couldn't see, but he had a feeling his father was smiling. He craned his neck to confirm the fact and saw that he was right. He chuckled quietly as his father put a paternal hand on his shoulder.  
  
"That will do. Even if I can't get you to see the wonder in Cordoba or Madrid or Seville, at least I can captivate you with Cadiz." He halted, pulling the steed into a slower pace, "I remind you, it will still be many long days before we get there."  
  
"I know, father. I do not mind the wait." said the boy energetically.  
  
The horse, father, and son, moved slowly but steadily away from the dense thicket of people and into a calmer, quieter area that was only dappled by a few folk, who seemed less like wretched vagabonds than those skulking about in the main streets. The obvious reason for the lack of such scoundrels was the general exclusiveness of the area. The steed had moved into the gardens around the Alcazar, the palace of Spain's Christian kings. It was much less grand than it was simply beautiful, like the brightest new flower of spring. The land was all set up in several levels, each with multiple staircases leading up to the next and finally to the dazzling palace itself. The building that stood over the pear-shaped garden trees was rimmed by four perfectly shaped towers on each corner that dipped into the surrounding plaza, which was covered by intricate mosaics.  
  
Phillip prodded the horse slightly with his greave and pulled it expertly around the corner of a rippling reflecting pool surrounded by some trimmed hedges that held in them detailed shapes and figures. The hooves of the animal clicked on the uneven tiles around the pool and towards the small gate that led out of the garden.  
  
"Is it not a masterpiece?" said Phillip, gesturing at the structure and gardens, "The palace of our mighty lord himself stands there for all to see. Being in his presence was such a great honor, and his light lingers on all that is his. You would do well to remember that, Cervantes."  
  
"You will relish serving the king, won't you, father?" said Cervantes, hesitating momentarily before he posed the question He distinctly heard his father sighing, but he wasn't entirely sure why.  
  
"Yes, I do believe I will, Cervantes." Responded his father, after considering the question, "In a way, I have always served his majesty in some small way, but now my talent will actually be of some value to him. I only hope that I can make both him and you proud out in that vast ocean. You should be proud, Cervantes, to see your old dad going off to fight for the crown."  
  
"I am proud, more than you can imagine. I know that the 'vast ocean' will only serve to help your course and bring back many English treasures for his majesty within a year. You always said the ocean was your friend and I do not doubt it."  
  
"I will need more than the friendship of that ocean to see me through this."  
  
"You shan't need an alliance with the other waters of this earth."  
  
"That was not what I meant, Cervantes. I will need my mastery of the sea to keep me and my ship afloat on it, but there are other ocean's to conquer. The ocean of the soul foremost among those must be overcome. I do not only strive to serve the king. I strive to do what I can for my king, my people, and my friends. I would rather be a good person than be a good privateer, Cervantes."  
  
"But, no one in the royal courts cares about the quality of your person. You were chosen because you were brave, bold, strong, courageous, and an expert seafarer. You always told me to learn the ways of the sea so I could be a captain like you when I was grown. If that is not what you truly meant, what was it then?"  
  
"I did want you to learn the ways of the sea, but not just so you could be a captain like me. Cervantes, a sailor must always be both strong and gentle. If you are strong with your crew and with the sea, you can master and earn the respect of both. If your are as gentle as you are strong, you will earn both their respect and friendship. That blue ocean, the ocean within, is far more important than the blue ocean I shall sail upon."  
  
Cervantes did not respond. He merely sat, pale from lack of sleep or food, thinking. He looked to be in a meditative trance as his father's deep words pierced him. That was a thought he had never considered. Was he so lost in bravery and glory that he'd forgotten the importance of being a strong individual? No, of course he hadn't. He'd simply been led astray by other, less important thoughts about his father's boldness. It wasn't the legendary stories that mattered, but the mind behind them.  
  
They neared the eastern limit of the stretching gardens. The rain had mostly let up and dappled light shone onto the ground, passing through the twisting branches of the trees. Soon enough, the amount of trees dwindled as the area became more stony and bleak. The steed and his passengers now clip-clopped briskly beneath the arch of the Door of Seville, which led out of the southeastern end of Cordoba and onto the road that wound around to Cadiz. There, looming as the last structure before Cervantes, was a considerably less imposing alabaster figure. It was a statuary monument to the poet, Ibn Hazm, looking very gentile and contemplative as he stood on the meager pedestal.  
  
"How long till we can rest, father?" said the boy at last, his voice sounding wearier now as the horse began to canter its way beneath the sturdy archway.  
  
"All the inns in Cordoba are filled to the brim. We will stop at an inn when we reach Posadas. Is that alright?" remarked his father, now reclining in the saddle and letting his worn out son sag into his chest.  
  
"Of course, father. Whatever you say." Cervantes de Leon murmured, his eyes closing. 


End file.
